Dusty Piano
by Winged Direwolf
Summary: Lestrade is used to seeing unusual things in Sherlock's apartments, so nothing really held his interest or would surprise him anymore. One item, though, held his curiosity because it seems to follow Sherlock to each new place but is never used. One-Shot. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**A small plot bunny that would not leave me well enough alone until I wrote it. Please Enjoy, R &R.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own the plot, all other rights go to their respective owners.**

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Over the four years, Lestrade had known Sherlock, he had been to his flat quite a lot, whether it was to inform him of a case, an impromptu drugs bust or checking up on him. After the first few times he had gotten used to seeing the strange things he kept there; body parts, various skulls and a variety of science equipment were a regular thing to find in the tall man's apartment. There was only one item that held his constant curiosity over the four years.

Oddly enough, it was a completely ordinary item that always held Lestrade's curiosity, at the beginning he thought nothing of it, the first flat he had seen it in he had just through it had been left there from the previous renters but each time Sherlock moved it came with him. The item in question was a white grand piano, both of the sets of keys were black, which made them stand out against the pale white of the piano. On the hood in black, there were the letters M, J, S interlocking over a larger H, making a sort of logo or crest. Lestrade had seen the same on Sherlock's violin so he just wrote it off as the logo for the company that made the instruments. When Sherlock settled into Baker-street the piano started collecting dust, in the corner. What made Greg curious about it was that it was one of the only things that always came with Sherlock to his new living spaces, aside from his violin and science equipment; all the other furniture was left behind.

The DI had asked about it a few times, but Sherlock had always deflected the question, usually with talking about the cases they were currently investigating. So for four years Greg just silently wondered about the piano, that is until one day someone actually tried to touch it.

It was during a drugs bust where they were trying to reclaim stolen evidence that the consulting detective had decided to steal because he was too impatient to wait for the lab workers to do their job with it.

The curly haired man had been senselessly dragging the bow over his violin, probably hoping the awful screeching noise would drive them away. However when Anderson edged towards the dusty grand piano that stood off the right of where Sherlock had been playing, about to open it and check if the evidence was stashed there.

He had put down his violin at lightning speed, and in a flurry of movement knocked Anderson's hand away from touching it, then stood standing in front of it protectively. "Don't touch it." Sherlock had all but growled the sentence.

For a minute or two everyone had just stood there in silence, none of them in the years that they had known him had ever caused him to show this much emotion; it had taken them all but surprise, sending them all into a stunned silence. It was Donovan that snapped out of it first. "Why? Got a dead body hiding in there freak. Or is that where you hid the evidence."

"No, the evidence is over there." Sherlock pointed towards a the fridge of all places, then continued to speak. "Take it and then get out."

Lestrade was surprised the pale man had never willing given the evidence over during a 'drugs bust', he usually just complained about harassment and continued to insult whoever came., especially if it was Donovan or Anderson. So Sherlock acting protective over a piano in the corner that hadn't even been dusted in a while was certainly suspicious. What exactly was he hiding in there?

"What's in the piano Sherlock, what are you trying to hide?" Sherlock turned the glare he was aiming Anderson on Lestrade. It may have been intimidating to some, but the DI was just to used to it by now. "There is nothing in there Lestrade."

"Then why don't you want us to touch it?"

"Simple, there is only one person allowed to touch it and you are obviously not them." Now Greg is certainly not an expert at reading Sherlock, but he would like to think that he was a little better at it than others. So if he wasn't mistaken he thought he saw a little sadness on the consulting detectives face, it was gone in and instant though so he couldn't be sure of what he saw.

No matter what Sherlock claimed about Greg he was not an idiot, by normal standards at least. He hadn't made it to DI by chance he worked hard for it and was damn good at his job. So when Sherlock said only one person was allowed to touch it, most people would assume that he meant himself, but going by all the dust, Sherlock hadn't touched it and neither had the landlady. So who exactly owns the piano and who can make Sherlock react like this.

While Lestrade had been thinking about this Sherlock had gotten the evidence that had been hidden in the fridge and shoved it into the DI hands roughly. "There, you got what you came for, now take your leave." The consulting detective then moved away and flopped down onto the couch in a melodramatic fashion.

Before Greg had time to ask who the piano belonged to Sally spoke. "What the hell are you talking about freak, it's just a dirty old piano."

Sherlock looked like he was about to respond with a number of insults, so the DI cut him off before he could. "Who does the piano belong to?" Sherlock froze at the question, his gaze going back to the instrument in question. This time, Lestrade definitely caught the flicker of sadness in his eyes. For a long moment, Greg didn't think he was going to get an answer but then Sherlock spoke, his voice flat not betraying any emotion. "My brother."

The answer confused the silver haired man, from the talks during the times he was kidnapped by Sherlock's older brother it seemed like they weren't close. Whenever Sherlock was in the same room as Mycroft it was like he could barely tolerate his presence. "It's Mycroft's?"

The tall man's face contorted into on of disgust, probably at the thought of having something of Mycroft's in his house. "Wait, that guy that always has and umbrella with him is the freaks brother?" Sherlock ignored Anderson and answered Lestrade instead. "Not him, my other brother."

"There's another one of you!?" Was Greg's surprised response, as if two Holmes brother's wasn't enough, now he learns there is a third. He probably shouldn't be as surprised as he is, it's not like he knows much about Sherlock, apart from the obvious things. Still he was quite positive before that Mycroft was his only brother, considering neither of them mentioned having another sibling during the four years he had known them both for.

"No. Not anymore." Silence followed that reply, no one really knew what to say or do. Well, I guess now Greg knew why he had never met the other brother before and why Sherlock didn't want anyone to touch the piano. Lestrade couldn't help being curious, though, he wondered what exactly happened to Sherlock's sibling. He obviously loved his brother, no matter what he said about sentiment and being a sociopath, keeping and being protective of the piano only served to prove that he had cared and still does.

"What happened to him?" Greg couldn't stop himself from asking, the inner detective in him was clawing for answers and information about what he had just learned about this man that was lounging on the chair in front of him.

"M.I.A, presumed dead." Out of all the answers, he was expecting, that most definitely was not one of them. He thought his brother might have died from some type of illness or at worse been murdered, missing in action was not one of the things that crossed his mind. "He was a soldier?" The job just seemed so normal, and normal was not usually associated with the name Holmes.

"Yes." was the curt reply that meant he wasn't going to say anything more on the subject. "Yea right, your probably just making it up so that we won't find the drugs you have hidden in there." sneered Anderson.

Sherlock stood up in a flurry of movement, descending on Anderson and towering over him. "I don't care what you say about me because your jealous that I can do your job ten times better than you. Never speak about my brother, he died in Afghanistan fighting for his country and I will not let you disrespect him because of your petty need to try to prove that you are better than me." again the room was shocked into silence, Sherlock had all but yelled the sentence in Anderson's face. Never had they seen him react like that to anything or anyone.

The silence was broken by a knock at the door downstairs, followed by Mrs. Hudson opening the door and greeting the guest warmly then sending them up to 221B. The guest turned out to be Mycroft dressed in his usual three-piece suit and umbrella in hand.

"I think it's time that you and your colleagues take your leave Detective Inspector." There was no reason to argue, they had gotten what they had come for, so they all started to leave under Lestrade's order. He had just shut the door behind himself when he heard the two brothers talking.

"Bugger off Mycroft, don't you have a country to run."

"Why must you always be so difficult little brother. It's been years, you can't possible still blame me."

"It was your fault, you were the one that sent him on that mission. You could have stopped him"

"No brother mine, even if I hadn't approved it he still would have gone. John always was stubborn, he would never have let his unit go without him."

"Leave Mycroft."

Sensing that the conversation was coming to an end Greg made his way down the rest of the stairs, feeling a little guilty for eavesdropping but he had been curious, he now knew why the two brothers didn't get along, it had something to do with the mission that their brother died during. Leaving baker street, he wondered what the other brother had been like, probably just as irritating as the other two.

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 **I might write another one-shot for a sequel in the future but for now, this is just a One-Shot.**


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next year not one of the yarders touched or talked about the piano during the time they came to his flat. Well at least no in front of the Consulting detective anyway. Everyone having enough sense and respect not to talk or question the man about his dead brother, that died serving for queen and county.

One day that all changed though, Greg and Sherlock had been on their way to Baker Street so that the silver haired man could pick up the cold case files he had asked Sherlock to look over and see if he could solve any of them.

Upon approach they both spotted the nondescript black car that they both knew belong to Mycroft. Greg heard Sherlock mutter under his breath about what the fat git wanted this time. The DI couldn't help the small smile of amusement at that, long used to the way the two brothers bickered. When they came to the door through Sherlock froze, ales trade didn't know why at first, he thought that maybe something was wrong and automatically stiffens looking for signs of danger but then he heard it.

Music, music was coming from 221b, to be more specific piano music was coming from the flat. It wasn't recorded music played through a radio, it was the piano. Someone was playing Sherlock's brother's piano.

At first neither of them moved just listening to the music, not really processing what was happening. Then Sherlock broke out of it racing up the seventeen steps so fast that he was at the flat before Greg even thought to follow. The consulting detectives face for once showing what he felt and what he felt was obviously full fledge anger projecting his thoughts clearly. How dare Mycroft even think of playing his piano.

When he did actually gather himself enough and followed, the scene he found was not the one he had though he would see upon entering 221b. Mycroft bloody iceman Homes was smiling, in all his years Greg has never once seen that. A condescending smirk, or a small twinkle of amusement in the man's eyes, yes. But never a actually smile, the smile was directed at the man sitting calmly playing through the rest of the song at the piano.

Said man, was a blonde with tanned skin. He wore black jeans and a pair of regular military grade boots accompanied by a dark red fluffy looking jumper sleeves pulled up to the crook of his elbows so the fabric wouldn't get in the way while playing. Greg didn't know who the man was and couldn't tell much about him either, considering all he could see was the back of him.

Sherlock meanwhile had frozen again, just inside the door. His expression unreadable but he was also looking at the man at the piano. Slowly his gaze shifted to Mycroft. "What...how...?" Lestrade would have laughed at Sherlock looking so lost for once, but he didn't because he sensed the seriousness of the situation at hand.

Upon hearing Sherlock's voice, then man suddenly stopped playing and turned around, when the man eyes landed on Sherlock his face split into a wide warm smile and stood up. The blond walked towards Sherlock and pulled him into a hug. Greg was fully aware that his jaw had dropped, not because the man had hugged Sherlock but because Sherlock didn't push the man away; Instead he slowly wrapped his hands around the shorter man and clung tight like he was reassuring himself that what he saw was real.

The shorter man was the one to pull away and step back. Sherlock seemed to have regained the ability to construct full sentences again. "What happened? Where have you been?" His tone bordered on accusing.

A multitude of emotions flashed a crossed the man's face, pain, sadness, anger and many others. Greg found the best way to describe the emotion that the short blonde finally settled on, would be haunted. "That's a long story Sherlock, and one I'm not fully prepared to talk about at the moment. Let's just say the mission went for a lot longer than intended, and it was a lot more complicated than originally thought."

"Why didn't you tell us you were still ali-" Sherlock cut himself, head snapping up to look at his brother, still standing next to the music stand, where he has been watching the stranger play the piano. "Did you know he was alive?"

"No brother mine, I had no idea." Mycroft's face twitched just a little indicating his displeasure at not knowing something and having to admit it to his younger brother. "John only contacted me two days ago."

John? Lestrade thought to himself, it sounded familiar. Where had he heard that name mentioned before? Before he could think more on it he was interrupted but Sherlock's indignant voice. "You've known for two days and your only just telling me now?"

John looked a little sheepish at this. "That's not Mycroft's fault, I wanted to surprise you and I only just arrived back in London today. I came here strait from the airport." Sherlock turned his gaze back to John, he stared at him intensely, obviously deducing all sorts of things about the man stood in front of him. After a minute Sherlock spoke, "You were shot. Twice. As well as many other minor injuries judging by all the new scars on our arms." he stated it as a fact rather than a question, sure in his deduction.

"Yes, shot once in the shoulder and a graze on my leg." after that there was just silence, which is when Lestrade decided to interrupt because he was still confused about who this man was. The two brothers obviously knew who he was but hadn't seen him I a while.

"So, who exactly are you?" John turned to me, obviously glad for the distraction from the awkward conversation. "Capitan John Watson-Holmes."

"Holmes?"

"Yes, I'm their half-brother" John said gesturing to the other Holmes in the room.

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 **Wrote this years ago and found it recently, thought i would post it because i don't know if i will write anymore of it in the future.**


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